


Name

by Servena



Series: Witch!Gene [4]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Captivity, Developing Relationship, Gen, Magic, Magic-Users, Mute!Gene, Muteness, Names, Past Abuse, Slavery, Trust, Trust Issues, Witchcraft, Witches, Witchkeeper!Babe, witch!gene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 17:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20411710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Servena/pseuds/Servena
Summary: "I've been meaning to ask you, do you have a name?"





	Name

He's been staring into the fire for the last few minutes, head empty of thoughts, just watching the way the flames dance in the breeze of the summer night, when the voice of his master startles him out of his reverie. "I've been meaning to ask you", he says as he's settling down on the opposite side, "do you have a name?"

He freezes. The night is silent around them except for the crackling of the fire that sounds almost like magical sparks. When he dares to steal a glance at him, the boy's face is calm, relaxed, and the tension slowly seeps out of his shoulders again.

Witches don’t have names. Everybody knows that. They might get a nickname if they’re lucky, otherwise it’s always just “Hey, you there!” until the feeling of eyes on you is enough, until they don’t need to say anything at all.

"I mean", his master continues, undeterred by the quiet, "I know what's in your papers, but your parents must have given you a name, no?"

The question hurts in unexpected ways. He’s spent years not thinking about it, his head firmly in the present, his thoughts never straying farther than the next sip of water, the next piece of bread, the next job, the change in the mood of his owner - but yes, there had been parents once, and siblings, and freedom.

Most witches are not raised in captivity since they’re simply a hazard growing up, their magic controlled by their emotions instead of reason. Most people don’t want to deal with them when even a ten years old witch can kill all people in a 15 feet radius if pushed to the brink (and most of the times, themselves). So only teenage and adult witches are hunted and captured, and since magic can’t be eradicated in the population completely because it tends to sometimes jump generations, there’s always a constant supply for witchkeepers to use.

He looks into the flames, hoping that the bright light will burn away the images rising up within him, that the heat will quiet the sound of his younger self’s screams in his ears.

"I'm sorry for asking" the boy says, sensing his change of mood. "I guess it's none of my business."

Which is such an absurd statement that it leaves him puzzled - he's his owner, anything and everything about him is, strictly speaking, his business. But then of course, most keepers never ask questions like that. It doesn’t affect their work, so they don’t bother. In truth, most keepers are probably more comfortable not knowing.

He could keep it to himself, a part of the piece of him that no outside force can touch. He doubts that his master is even really waiting for an answer, how does he expect him to tell him anyway?

But, no one's ever asked before.

He picks out a slender branch out of the fire that the flames have not yet reached, and scratches the letters into the earth. It feels foreign, doing this thing he used to do a lifetime ago.

Babe gasps out loud. "You can write!" He looks at him like he just performed a miracle. In a world were few people could read and write, a witch being able to has to be a surprising feat.

As soon as he is finished, his master leans forward to read it in the fire light. He takes a moment to decipher it, moving his lips quietly with the effort, but then he says out loud: "Eugene." It sounds like he's trying it out, tasting it on his tongue. Then he looks at him. "That's your name."

He nods slowly.

"Gene." Babe turns his head slightly. "Almost like what they call witches in the Far East, Genies, did you know? Would you mind if I called you this? Gene?"

So many questions, so many choices. He shakes his head.

It’s frightening, to give it away like this, absolutely terrifying.

But it also feels good to have a name again.


End file.
